L Amore Di Ombra
by BryteTwilight
Summary: People are disappearing. Fudge is out of it. Hogwarts isn’t safe, either. Who is around to save the day? Pfft, you don’t really think they’d let students handle it! AU. MM/AD, NT/RL, RW/HG. *Chapter Two up!*
1. Give Unto Me

Title: L'Amore Di Ombra  
  
Author: Brytetwilight  
  
Genre: Incorporates a bit of everything.  
  
Ships: Albus/Minerva, Ron/Hermione, Tonks/Lupin  
  
Summary: People are disappearing. Fudge is out of it. Hogwarts isn't safe, either. Who is around to save the day? Pfft, you don't really think they'd let students handle it! AU, I suppose, because I'm setting it during fourth year.  
  
Disclaimer: Only doing this once~~I own nothing~~don't sue, 'cos you won't get much.  
  
Author's Note: Will someone help me figure out this HTML business? Like, how to italicize things and such? I feel really stupid asking, but. . .yeah.  
  
Reviews are welcome :-) Praise is appreciated, but putting the whole warm- fuzzy-feely thing aside, it doesn't make me any better.  
  
A cookie to anyone who can spot the Matrix reference.  
  
And the title's in Italian. Because I like Italian.  
  
Now that that's all out of the way, shall we begin?  
  
** *** **  
  
Chapter One: Give Unto Me  
  
[Give unto me your troubles  
  
I'll endure your suffering  
  
Place onto me your burden  
  
I'll drink your deadly poison]  
  
It was a dark and stormy night.  
  
A cloaked figure smiled slightly as the old quote ran through his head. That was the way he liked it, of course. Any other sort of weather and he wouldn't dare to leave the castle walls. Come to think of it, on normal circumstances, he wouldn't even be out now.  
  
But, these circumstances were not normal in the slightest.  
  
He cradled what appeared to be a torn, ragged pile of robes to his chest. It was amazing, he mused as he gingerly set the bundle on the ground to unlock the gate, that such good fortune had fallen to him. And a pub-what an unlikely place for a treasure! He reflected.  
  
It had been all well when he reached the bar. The rough wooden smell combined with a mixture of blood and alcohol to produce something putrid, but that was no matter. He had stepped right to the front of the line without bother, for the name of Armando Gryffin was nothing short of king in this land. Immediately a rough bottle of Triple AO+ had been thrust in his hand without a price. Yes, being him did have its uses.  
  
He had settled himself down in the far corner table, pulling his hood down over his eyes as to not be disturbed. After uncorking the bottle by the tooth he had leaned back, fully prepared to be hung over within minutes, when he was quite rudely interrupted.  
  
"Damn. . .a bottle o' that stuff free o' charge?" A silky, yet drunken voice had penetrated the shadows.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You 'erd me," the speaker had said as he slid into the chair across from Armando. His hood shadowed his face as well, but that was nothing unusual; one might go as far as to say it was a fashion, along with long black cloaks and the sort.  
  
"I do not tolerate being spoken to like that."  
  
The hooded man chuckled. "A bit high an' mighty, are you? Well, I'm sure we can fix that."  
  
Armando was growing even more irritated by. "And just what do you mean by-" he began, but choked in mid sentence. The stranger had leaned back in his seat as he spoke, and a mass of long, tangled blonde hair had slid out from beneath his hood.  
  
"You're-you're-not from around here, are you?" Armando stuttered as a vein popped in his neck. His disdainful tone vanished immediately and his face grew paler; this was not something he was used to doing. "You're-you're-"  
  
The faint smile on his face grew wider. "Yeah, I know I'm a wizard."  
  
"You don't belong here," Armando spoke with an edge to his voice as he rose to his feet. "Goodbye."  
  
"Aw, come on, don't leave yet! If you must know, I have some info that might be of interest to you."  
  
Aldebrand had hesitated, but in the end decided to stay put. He pulled out his chair again and sat back down  
  
"That's better." His voice had dropped its rough quality the moment he found that Armando was going to listen.  
  
"What was it you wanted to tell me?"  
  
"If my sources are correct, people in this country have a lot of sense when it comes to choosing sides."  
  
"Power, of course."  
  
"Precisely. You undoubtedly remember the power the Dark Lord had twelve years ago. What if you could help to restore that--?"  
  
"Why should I?" Armando interrupted, but he was ignored.  
  
"-power? You lie in the shadows of the mountains, unnoticed, ashamed. What if your people could be restored their former glory? The Dark Lord can do that, Armando. And he will help you if you want him to," the stranger gave him one last look before standing and leaving him alone.  
  
Armando had hesitated-taking orders from a wizard?!-but still caught up with the man right outside the door. The rain beat on their cloaks, soaking the pair of them, forcing Armando to raise his voice if he wanted to be heard.  
  
"What must I do?"  
  
The man had raised a hand over his shoulder, motioning for him to follow, and continued on, into the woods. For twenty minutes they walked until they reached the heart of the forest.  
  
"This," he spoke, "is where the Dark Lord lies."  
  
A small gasp fought against Armando's closed mouth; it was certainly apparent. The absolute silence overwhelmed him; no creature stirred within his hearing. On the ground in front of them, a twenty-foot circle was cleared of all snow, grass, and earth-a miniature wasteland. Trees around them stood as skeletons.  
  
In the center of the circle lay a heap of black robes, tattered, worn, and as they would be in the eyes of a Death Eater, priceless.  
  
The man looked at Armando in the eye. "This is all that remains. Find a way to restore his power, and yours shall be returned as well."  
  
Armando was brought to his knees. "I. . .I'm not worthy of this."  
  
The man cocked his head to the side. "No, perhaps not. But. . .you cannot die again."  
  
Armando nodded. "So, then. . .any instructions?"  
  
A smirk flickered across the man's face. "He will know what to do."  
  
Armando had nodded faintly but hadn't really paid much attention, overcoming the invisible force pressing down on his back and rising to his feet. "And who are you? In case I-" He almost said "need help" but decided the better of it; why would he need help from a wizard? "In case I complete the task, or. . .change my mind."  
  
"You won't be changing your mind. And the name is Lucius Malfoy."  
  
Yes, what a twist of the fates-in his favor, of course. It was also amazing how he had managed to get it all the way up here. He had made sure that the Gryffin Bastion was quite unreachable by anyone but himself; an old friend of his, now long dead, he was sure, had been secret-keeper for the correct pathway, as well as casting multiple charms on the house itself. Of course, if made more difficult for others to access, the rules never broke for the owner. What a pity it was, he thought. An hour and a half wasted for rugged, snowy mountain trails without use of his arms.  
  
Now, however, he faced the tall, iron-wrought gate. Five minutes it took him to undo the two hundred locks, and not long after that he sat in front of his fireplace, flames dancing in the gothic-styled frame.  
  
Piece by piece, he began to unwrap the bundle of cloth and rags. A faint whispering ensued as he removed the first layer, growing louder and louder as more were unwrapped.  
  
Minutes passed. The floor was now strewn with multi-sized sheets of fabric, and Armando was beginning to feel exasperated. What sort of trick was this? Oh, this was what he got for trusting wizards. . .he would get that Malfoy back, he would. . .  
  
So he thought as he held what had to be the last covering in his left hand. Slowly, tenderly, he pulled it off. Three more inches to go. . .two. . .one. . .  
  
A bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence of the mansion as the flames were extinguished. Armando writhed in the floor in pain, in the darkness, twitching. It was a seizure, it had to be. . .he couldn't think. . .  
  
A mind was invading his own.  
  
Then a voice, so silent outside his mind, but so unexpected, sending chills down his spine.  
  
"Hello, Gryffin. Meet your new master." 


	2. All's Well That Begins So

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, I appreciate it so, so much :-) I've got this thing all planned out now, and I'm quite proud of the idea. I'm dying here, though, because I want to get on with the other stuff. . .if this chapter seems hastened, weird, uninteresting, or anyone's OoC, I'm telling you now: LEAVE. A. REVIEW. Otherwise, I can't fix it.  
  
If anyone would be willing to beta-read for me I'd.oh, I don't know. Be very thankful and (attempt to) illustrate a scene from a story of theirs. Or something.  
  
Laura Kay and Redwoman06: Thanks :-)  
  
Minni: Thanks for the suggestion, I'll go back and fix things up.  
  
* ** *  
  
Chapter Two: All's Well That Begins So  
  
[A lifeless object, alive Awaiting reprisal Death will be their acquisition The sky is turning red Return to power draws near] --Slayer, Raining Blood  
  
The Gryffin Bastion was an excellent meeting place. It was so wondrous, so ethereal that the highest of common folk wouldn't dare to put a toe within its boundaries, if that were even possible. It was so dark, so ghostly- looking that not even the most audacious of teenagers would dare to run up and touch its walls; again, if that were possible. Such charms and security measures made entrance near impossible for all except the owner, if anyone were to walk right up to the front door. Which they wouldn't.  
  
So, it was here, in late August, that a special sort of gathering was held to bring together the most feared witches and wizards of all history; the Death Eaters. Armando Gryffin stood outside the door, clothed in his finest seal-skin cape, to welcome the first-and most important-visitors he had had in decades. It was to be a fabulous reunion, a reunion that would be told of throughout all history; the day death rose again.  
  
The mountain snow blinded his vision from anywhere more than three feet outside the roofed porch, but within minutes, Armando spotted a cloudy black lump making its way up the castle steps. Yes, the first to arrive. As soon as the figure retreated to the protection of the roof, he removed his hood and clock. A wave of luscious blond hair flew out, bright against the black.  
  
The man gave a slight bow of his head. "Gryffin."  
  
"Malfoy, so we meet again. Please enter. . .the room is two flights up and the third door to your left. . ."  
  
And so the process repeated in a similar fashion, thirty times over until Gryffin himself waltzed into the luxurious wooden foyer, locking and bolting the door behind him. "Welcome," he called, the sound echoing slightly. "To the new generation of power." Applause answered. Gryffin smiled slightly to himself, and took the time to examine them as a whole- too his disappointment, they were all magic folk, but he reprimanded himself at the very thought. Such prejudices were insignificant among the vibe of power working is way around the room. They were draped over the multiple couches, armchairs, and poufs as jungle cats would be in a tree. The men outnumbered the women by far, he noted. Most of the men were tall and burly, and all of the women quite the opposite. Every single robe in the room was black; that pleased him, sure enough. Although, many of them looked as if they needed immediate dental care. . .but, that was beside the point. Appearance was a trivial matter.  
  
"You all know why we are here. Our Lord is with us as we speak." This time, instead of applause, a sort of involuntary shudder made its way around the room.  
  
"As his servants reunite," he continued, "we shall, as well, aim to reunite the spirit of the Dark Lord with his body. We shall overpower our world once more, clearing the bloodlines of all Muggle filth, and once again bring pride to the name of wizard. We shall conquer the opposing forces with the help of their leader himself, all along the Dark Lord's plan, and disgrace the weak and powerless before bringing them to the face of death." His voice strengthened. "As Death Eaters, we will destroy Albus Dumbledore and rise above!"  
  
A loud, raucous cheering followed. Hisses abounded as a name so vile sounded within their hearing; at the mention of it, two dumbfounded men in the back clutched the dark marks on their wrists, flinching. After half a minute, Gryffin continued.  
  
"Therefore, we-"  
  
"'Ey, 'ow're we going abou' killing Dumbledore?" The burlier of the two men in the back interrupted, innocently enough.  
  
Armando's mind flashed with indignance, and then anger, at being interrupted, but before he could respond his gut gave a spine-tingling wrench. He fell to his knees in a spasm and hardly dared to look down, but unconsciously did so anyway. His fingers were growing long and bony, his skin pale. His face jutted outward in a sickening crunch of bone as the skin stretched across his face. Blood, next, oh yes, there was blood. . .pooling around him now, down his face, from his eyes, trickling from his wrists. . .  
  
Moments passed; he lay in spasms on the ground, not daring to look away until it was all over.  
  
Someone screamed, in delight or fear he could not tell. He rose to his feet with a wave of nausea and vertigo, but that soon passed.  
  
"That, Goyle, is for me to know, and you to not.  
  
* ** *  
  
Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk with his eyes closed and his head in his hands. Every single gadget he owned, from the simplest of silver instruments cluttering his desk, to he complex silver mist of his pensieve, had been shut off or put away. His working hours were supposed to have ended hours ago, but with the start of term only days away, staying in the office overtime was the only way to ensure the completion of every task.  
  
Today, however, as he shut down his tools, he remained in his study, alone in complete and utter relaxation. Fawkes had gone off to the owlery, as he was the chief referee for the School Owl Preparation Field Day, whatever that was. But then again, Fawkes didn't often go into details.  
  
In the silence, Dumbledore wondered if he would need another pensieve soon. Do they run out of room for thoughts? And this one had cost him such a fortune, it would be a shame to have to shell out-  
  
An interrupting breeze whished past him as the door flew open, tickling his beard to his face. He immediately glanced up and replaced the half-moon glasses on his face. Vision swimming into focus, he spotted a woman in emerald robes staring down at him in an odd mixture of anxiety and amusement.  
  
"Hello, Minerva," he spoke.  
  
"Albus-I'm sorry, I would have knocked, but I thought you had gone back to your quarters. . ." the corners of Minerva McGonagall's mouth turned up slightly in apology.  
  
"It's quite all right. What are you doing here so late, anyhow?"  
  
She held out a small folder. "More denied applications for the Defense against the Dark Arts position, I'm afraid. No one wants the job anymore, although I do wish Remus had decided to stay another term, as he was very competent in the area. "  
  
Albus gave a small nod. "That he was."  
  
"Well, he couldn't have, and that's the point. Term starts in two days, and what are we going to do?" She paused for a moment, in thought. "Perhaps if I switch my seventh-years to Monday afternoon instead of Friday, I could use the free day to fit in a good three classes, but I don't know what would happen to the rest, or if any other teachers would-"  
  
"You, my dear professor," he cut her off. "Are a workaholic. Now sit." She obediently sat in the chair across from his desk, scowling slightly at the terms and opening her mouth to speak. Dumbledore held up a hand and she closed it. "The Minister-I owled him this morning-has seen it fit for his assistant, Mrs. Patricia Patil, I believe, to take over some of the less- involving issues of the job. I will be teaching Defense."  
  
As soon as he let out the words, a loud crash echoed the room as the applications were flung into the waste basket. Minerva sighed with relief and leaned back in her chair. "Oh, Albus, I could-well, never mind that-but thank the Gods for Mrs. Patil." She rose quickly from her seat. "I'll be going, then. Lesson plans and such, you know. . ." She exited.  
  
Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and sat up once more in his leather chair, pulling out a planner and very thankful of the few hours he had left until September 1st.  
  
* ** *  
  
It came and left quicker than he had wished. The first years, although of course he had not shown he thought so, weren't as promising as they had been the previous three years. Albus detested himself for judging by simply the first week of classes, but the fact remained that over the years, the Slytherin stereotype had grown more and more to be vile and arrogant than cunning and ambitious; therefore, most of dark bloodlines picking up the poorer traits of the founder and producing more Slytherins than ever.  
  
Despite the newcomers, classes had been going very well. The older students were both shy and delighted to find their headmaster as their new professor, and he was equally overjoyed to be back in the classroom again. Being in charge, as involved and fatherly as he felt doing so, never had the same joy of being a teacher and watching his students grow. His classroom was normally located on the third floor, except on Tuesdays, on which it was the second. It was a dark, slightly musty place, but when the windows opened rays of dusty sunlight stormed in, penetrating even the shadiest corners and providing a nice view of the Quidditch Pitch. After one third-year class and a lot of sneezing, he had cleaned thoroughly during a free period, and left five tables and four wooden bookcases shining.  
  
It was an early morning class, however, in which there was a disturbance. The fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were in for a double-period, and it was a very promising lesson indeed. They were studying the some amusing cases of ordinary jinxes gone wrong; for example, when you twisted the hand up instead of down while muttering the "troposonia" incantation, instead of the jinx-ee speaking backwards for the rest of the day, his or her head was turned completely backwards. This led to a reversal of the spinal cord, now coming down the front instead of the back, along with the vertebrae, and could be a very nasty thing if not treated for any longer than a week.  
  
In the middle of a demonstration, with the counter-jinx handy, of course, Professor McGonagall entered the room. Ron Weasley's head shot up at the creak in the door, and Hermione Granger, who he had been practicing on, muttered at him indignantly to "Yap Noitnetta." Albus walked across the tiled floor to his fellow professor, fixing the Granger/Weasley situation with a flick of his want as he passed.  
  
"Minerva, I thought you didn't have any classes until-what's wrong?" He cut himself off. Upon closer inspection, McGonagall's lips were thinner than usual and her eyebrows wrought in worry. Her face was deathly pale and she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She opened the door and stepped outside, motioning for him to follow.  
  
"Headmaster. . .there's. . .well, you see, Poppy and I were wondering where Vivian-Professor Vector-had been, because she's normally in the staff room long before us, even me, so we were worried, and we-we-" She shook her head and looked down. Dumbledore's heart sped up; when Minerva was acting so unlike her usual self, it was a reason to be unnerved..  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She gained control of her speech again, though her voice cracked slightly. "Well. . .you see. . .Poppy's alerting everyone else. . .we went to her quarters." She stared intently at the floor. "We knocked, but there was no answer. We knocked again at her bedroom; no answer. So we went inside, and. . .the bed was covered in blood. She was no where in sight." 


End file.
